A Permanent Happenstance
by Mendeia
Summary: Fate is a Gift Series Part 11: Oneshot. Jim Ellison, cop and Sentinel of Cascade, meets three very strange strangers. On the other hand, it's a pretty typical day for Max, Norman, and Virgil. Spiders - and insights - ensue.


Really long author's note to follow:

This is my first foray into The Sentinel fandom. Uh, but it won't be the last. See, here's the thing – in February of 2014, I finally decided to watch the TV show behind the very interesting multiple AU stories I had read in what was called the Sentinel/Guide-verse. And I had also just finished re-perusing XmagicalX (aka x-parrot)'s crossover of Ghostbusters, Quantum Leap, and The Sentinel. So I sat down and over the course of about 2 weeks watched the entire series.

And I was hooked. HOOKED I TELL YOU.

By the end of February, I had wrapped up my major work-in-progress ("Bonds of Honor") and I was off to the races on what I thought at first would be a 3-arc Sentinel crossover but instead came out to be 5 arcs. Just a hint shy of 400,000 words. I was writing like a woman on a mission and it was stupendous.

So all of 2015, and I do mean ALL, will be me posting these arcs. I might break down, particularly if I get some other oneshots done or something, and add a few others to the schedule, but as of now, every 5.2ish days there will be another chapter or oneshot in the massive, massive Sentinel story that has demanded my time, attention, and some of my best writing ever.

This story was the first one in the fandom I wrote, though, and because it's Mighty Max, it's for you, Jess. It's also fanonical to everything else Mighty Max that I write. And I think I've left it open and vague enough for it to be fanonical to The Sentinel as well, but that's as far as these two will go in crossover land. Call it a possibility, a road not taken, but that doesn't mean it couldn't have happened.

For the Mighty Max faithful (I think there are 3 of you), if you've never watched The Sentinel, you should. You might like it.

For those meeting me for the first time from The Sentinel – uh, hi? I'm unbelievably nervous to be diving into this world where so many of the greats have walked before me. Here's hoping you don't mind my upcoming and massive epic with some unique twists that a) have not been done before in this way that I could find, b) was written after I read, uh, a lot of the existing body of work (currently have downloaded north of 600 stories, and I read a lot more than that – I only download what I like really well) so I feel like I have at least some perspective on the fandom, and therefore, c) is in some ways an homage to certain things, in some ways a new take on some old ideas, and in some ways a story that I think we missed somewhere along the way and need in our little library. So, again, hi? Thanks for having me at your table? Pass the salt?

Anyway, enough from me. Enjoy!

* * *

A Permanent Happenstance

1\. existing perpetually; everlasting, especially without significant change.  
2\. intended to exist or function for a long, indefinite period without regard to unforeseeable conditions  
3\. long-lasting or nonfading

* * *

It had been a weird day.

Now, Jim's definition of "a weird day" had undergone some serious revisions in the last few years. Five years prior, "a weird day" was getting all the way to the precinct without hitting any red lights (without using his sirens to cheat, of course). Then had come all that Sentinel business, and with it, one Blair Sandburg. After that, serial killers, haunted houses, rogue CIA agents, and Sentinel cat burglars had made things a lot more interesting. By now, solving crimes using his Sentinel abilities was becoming routine, even if nothing about actually being a Sentinel and having Sandburg around ever did.

This was a lot weirder than that.

"What do you sense?" Blair asked. They were creeping through the woods to the east of Cascade after some reports of a very strange explosion. Several figures had been seen running from a burning, abandoned sawmill, and of course Banks had sent his top detective in to find out what was going on after the investigation had been handed up the chain several times. The woods were dense, and with the city far away, Jim's Sentinel abilities were at their best.

"It doesn't _make_ sense," Jim grumbled.

"Don't think about it," Blair urged. He dropped his tone and spoke more evenly, the way he did when they were doing testing together. It seemed that Jim was better able to let Blair help guide him when the words coming at him were said in such a way that they could slide under his hyperactive senses and into the part of his mind that was trying to process everything else.

"But it doesn't!"

"Don't," Blair said, even more softly. Jim automatically dialed up his hearing to compensate, and the focus let him relax into just taking in the information. "Don't fight what you sense. What are you getting?"

"Smell," Jim reported, finding it easier to talk through the sensations one at a time. "Smoke and ash from the explosion – the same exact mix of wood and metal and plastic and that weird chemical we found."

"What else?"

"Leather. Old leather, well-oiled. Metal, too, just on the edge of rusting. Something musty. Sweat. Blood. And…"

"And?"

"Feathers. I swear," and he turned to his partner, "I swear I'm smelling pigeons or something. Not their droppings, though. Just that birdy-feather smell."

"Well, we _are_ in the woods," Blair shrugged. "There could be a flock of birds around."

"When have you ever seen a flock of birds that didn't poop? Besides, I don't hear them."

"So what _do_ you hear?"

Jim listened past Sandburg's breathing, past the leaves and brush that crinkled and cracked under them, past all the forest noises that he could assess and dismiss without even thinking about it. With the skill of some years of practice and some amount of instinct, he narrowed his hearing onto where the smells originated.

"So does this mean I can go home now?" a voice asked, and Jim was surprised at the youthfulness of it. A boy, and maybe not even a teenager yet.

"No," replied a deep, sharp voice, and Jim felt something in his blood start to stir. There was anger and strength there, and from the resonance and volume, he assumed the speaker was a powerfully-built man probably looming over the child. "It'll be hours before your mom even thinks to go looking for you, anyway."

Jim saw red and started to run.

"Jim! Jim, wait!" Blair stumbled through the brush after the Sentinel, regaining his footing quickly. He'd followed enough different peoples through many wild places in the world – the Pacific Northwest was nothing new to his racing feet.

Some part of Jim was aware of Sandburg running after him, but most of him was focused on keeping his senses dialed low enough that he wouldn't zone out before he reached his destination. One good leap over a fallen tree and he burst into a small clearing. Spotting the big man standing over the kid, hands on his hips but quickly coming up in a defensive posture, Jim leaped.

There was a moment of pure adrenaline in the air, and then a bright spot of red and gold and everything stopped.

-==OOO==-

"…Jim? Come on, buddy. Listen to my voice."

The words were soft, a constant drone, easy to listen to, easy to fall into their rhythm.

"That's it. You're coming around now, Jim. Dial everything way back, and take a deep breath. This is seriously the strangest thing I've _ever_ seen and that's _saying_ something."

Sandburg. It was Sandburg's voice. The words were low, almost a whisper and almost in his ear. Why would Sandburg be whispering? But he wanted him to dial back his hearing? Dial it back why? He needed to know what Blair was saying.

A tapping on his forearm. Steady, in time with a heartbeat. Blair's heartbeat. Jim could hear it right alongside his own heartbeat, their rhythms even and unhurried. Reassurance. The way Blair reminded him that he didn't need his Sentinel senses to know everything was all right.

Sentinel senses. Of course. He'd zoned.

With practiced swiftness, Jim brought his senses back under control, blinking dry eyes.

"What do you remember?" Blair asked in a normal tone.

The case. The woods. Chasing after a kid being kidnapped…wait! Jim fought to orient himself.

He was on the ground, leaning on a log with Sandburg crouched beside him. There was a dull ache across his shoulders, and he didn't need Sentinel sensitivity to know he'd been hit hard by something. Probably a tree, actually. That would account for the splinters of bark biting into his skin. Across the clearing, three figures stared at him.

"Is he okay?" asked a blond, blue-eyed boy. Jim would tag him around 13 years old, even if he held himself like a much older kid.

"I didn't hit him that hard." Could a mountain pout? The giant, _giant_ guy next to the kid was almost pouting. But the fact that he was easily 7 feet tall, built like the world's scariest linebacker, carrying a _sword_ and wearing _armor_, and looming over the kid, made his contrition look even more out of place than the rest of him.

"I believe he was thrown into sensory chaos."

"Oh my god a giant _chicken_ kidnapped the kid," Jim rubbed his face. "Chief, how hard did I hit my head?"

"You didn't," Sandburg sat back. "Unless I did and forgot, 'cause I'm seeing a chicken here, too."

"I am not a chicken," the chicken said grumpily. "I am a fowl, actually."

"I can try to explain everything if you want," the kid offered. "It'll take a minute, though…"

-==OOO==-

The problem as far as Blair Sandburg was concerned wasn't that he and Jim had come across something completely and totally inexplicable in the fowl who called himself Virgil, claimed to be Lemurian, and was following a teenager after the mad scientist who was apparently planning to take over the world through some diabolical chemical warfare or maybe it was bugs – that part hadn't been too clear. The problem wasn't even that Virgil had, cold, without Blair saying anything about it, identified Jim as a Sentinel and then explained the phenomenon to the kid and the huge guy following him around while Blair did his best to bring his partner back out of the zone that had engulfed him out of nowhere and Jim wasn't saying anything – as usual.

The problem was that there wasn't nearly enough time to ask about all of it!

"So, Lemuria," Blair said eagerly, trotting beside Virgil. "I know the legends, of course, but…"

"Utterly false," Virgil shook his head. "Propaganda put out to ensure the development of later civilizations would be unencumbered by the ancient peoples of the past."

"Oh, that is so cool! So, what can you tell me?"

"Likely anything you might want to know," Virgil eyed him. "You are an anthropologist, if I am not mistaken, and I never am."

"Yes you are, Virg," the boy Max replied, shaking his head. "Do you want me to list the times you've been wrong alphabetically or by annoyance-factor?"

"Nevertheless, Mr Sandburg, for the duration of our stay here, you may ask whatever you like," Virgil waved off Max's smirk. "It will be a relief to speak to an academic, surrounded as I am by, _ahem_," he glanced up at the Viking called Norman and the boy and looked back to Blair with an unmistakable smirk, "those less intellectually inclined."

"Just keep it to a dull roar, Chief," Jim sighed. He was already getting a headache from the sheer rapidity and eagerness in Blair's voice. Not that he would begrudge his partner – he wanted a few answers, too. But he had a job to do, first.

"It's a good thing you're here," Max said softly. Jim looked down at where the boy had bounced ahead to walk at his side, leaving the chattering scholars behind them and Norman bringing up the rear. Max glanced shrewdly at the Sentinel and spoke even more quietly, barely a whisper. "It's a really good thing."

Jim didn't need Sentinel senses – just good old cop instincts – to know Max didn't want to be overheard, so he simply raised an eyebrow.

"We've met this doc before," Max continued in that quiet undertone. "He's big into spiders. He might still _be_ a spider, actually. And Norman can't stand them. It's the only thing he can't handle. Spiders. I don't blame him." A chill ran through him.

Jim dialed up his senses, which confirmed his guess. The kid wasn't acting. When he shuddered, his heart-rate had sped up, he had begun to sweat, and his breathing got shallow. He was managing it well, but the kid was reacting with genuine terror. And, as Jim focused in on the huge guy at the back, he got the same impression.

"Last time," Max said, "I was able to break him out of it. Like what your friend just did for you, I guess. But it's different now and…I might not be able to do it this time. Can't save the world when you're down two heroes and all you have is the chicken in reserve."

Jim understood that flippancy as a cover and let it slide. What he was a lot more interested was a pair of questions he hadn't yet had the chance to ask:

First, what about the kid's ballcap made him the 'Mighty One,' and did it have anything to do with what proximity to the thing was doing to his sixth sense, the weird and annoying so-called 'mystical' one he ignored as often as possible?

Second, Max wasn't _really_ serious about saving the world from a spider, right?

-==OOO==-

Three hours later, trapped in an honest-to-goodness giant bug jar and staring up at a spider the size of a basketball court, Jim decided that, yes, the kid was serious after all. Max had taken the spider-scientist in stride, maneuvered one giant spider into a trap he laid while on the run that left it squashed flat, and he had also shoved Blair clear of what would otherwise have been a literally sticky situation.

But now Max was suspended high above, caught in the giant web in the warehouse's farthest corner, trying to talk a monster-sized bug into not having him for dinner.

"Norman, you _must_ remember your oath!" Virgil was practically kicking the unmoving Viking in the shins.

"Is that what I look like, Chief?" Jim asked Blair at the horrified expression frozen on Norman's face and the odd stillness of his body.

"Kinda, yeah," Sandburg answered absently, still seeking an answer, an out, anything. "Minus the wigging out part."

"Sentinel? Can you hear me?"

Jim turned to where Max had stopped chattering at the spider and was looking in his direction. The words were muted by distance and the thick glass, but not so muted a Sentinel couldn't compensate. He nodded deliberately.

"Tell Normie something for me, will you? 'Cause he'll hate himself if I don't get out of this in about a minute and the clock is ticking." He took a deep breath and now that he was listening for it, Jim could hear the thumping, galloping pace of his heart, but his words were warm. "Tell Normie that he's the best bud a guy ever had. And I'm proud to have him as my Guardian. No matter what."

"I'll do you one better, kid," Jim said aloud, certain Max couldn't hear him and not caring. "You're gonna tell him yourself."

There it was again, that oddness that touched his senses, all of them, not just the sixth now, when he glanced up at that Cap the kid wore so proudly. It gave Jim a feeling like his own place in the world, as a Sentinel, was _right_ beyond anything he could comprehend. That he was exactly where he needed to be, and nothing could go wrong if he held onto that. That he was perfectly in tune with the world.

A flash of inspiration struck and Jim turned to the other three.

"Sandburg. Tell me how to figure out the frequency to get glass to shatter."

-==OOO==-

Later, _much_ later, after one of the strangest debriefings ever (Captain Banks had actually walked away grumbling and refusing to even look at the pack-of-obfuscation paperwork Sandburg would have to concoct on this one), the four were sitting around the loft waiting for the Chinese food to arrive. Blair had actually absconded with Virgil to his room where the pair of them were babbling at each other quicker than Jim even wanted to try to follow. It didn't help that Max had explained he didn't live that far from Cascade anyway considering he could use that crazy Cap to get anywhere in the world in seconds, and had offered to bring Virgil by again sometime for them to talk.

Jim had seen a picture of five-year-old Blair on a birthday morning looking over his presents, but that was nothing compared to how amazed and happy and gleeful he looked now.

After a gruff thanks to Jim, Norman had opted to take a shower. He was still covered in web, which, considering the strength of his phobia, was probably a genuine torture. Jim had seen Sandburg getting ready to make a terrible joke, probably about Norman being "ready to climb the walls" or something and had quickly offered the bathroom to spare everybody the pun and its inevitable retaliation. Jim was still slightly amused; having a supposedly 10,000 year-old Viking washing spider-web out of his hair in his shower was still not the weirdest thing he'd seen all day – that prize went to the spider itself. Still, the fact that he even _had_ a list that included giant spiders and pre-history barbarians proved that his Weird-O-Meter had definitely been recalibrated in the last few years.

"Thanks for today," Max said, breaking into his thoughts as he set out plates around the table. "For being there for Normie."

"I didn't do anything," Jim shook his head. "I just listened to the glass while he whacked on it with that sword of his until we got it right."

"You didn't give up," Max replied. "You got him moving again. That's what he needed. To be reminded that he's still a Guardian even when he's scared he won't be good at it."

"What does that mean, being a 'Guardian?'" Jim asked. He could hear the capital-G in the title.

"I don't understand all of it," Max admitted, "but it basically means Norman's going to be there for me no matter what happens. His job is to help me do my job and to pick up the slack when I can't. Virgil says Norman was 'chosen by destiny' or something eons ago."

"But you don't think so?" Jim saw the obvious opening.

"It's not that," Max shook his head. "Norman was there waiting the day I met Virgil, the day I got the Cap and all this started to happen," he waved his arms vaguely. "I know he got picked to protect me from the start. It's just that I don't think Norman being a 'Guardian' means what it used to."

Jim became aware of something, but he kept his face neutral and listened. He knew well enough when to let a kid talk out their ideas without interruption.

"I think then he was just, you know, guarding me. Being my Guardian happened later when I realized that Norman needs me as much as I need him and Virgil. I can't save the world on my own and maybe I won't ever. I'm the Cap-Bearer but I'm always gonna need a Guardian to watch my back, to step up when I make a mistake, to keep my feet on the ground. Like I'm always gonna need a Lemurian to know all the stuff I'll never know. Being a Guardian to me means I'm something to Norman, too. Not just that person he protects all the time. It's…I dunno." He sighed. "If I'm the Mighty One and Norman is the Guardian, then we're only what we are when we're in it together. I'd still probably be the Mighty One without him, but I wouldn't be very good at it. And he wouldn't have anybody to protect."

"I think I get it," Jim said softly. "You can't help what you are, you can't change what you're supposed to do. But you also know you'll never really be able to do it unless you've got somebody there to get you through it. Somebody smarter than you, or stronger, or whatever. Being the hero doesn't mean you're the best person in the room. Sometimes you need a partner."

Jim looked to where silence had fallen in Blair's room. Sandburg and Virgil were standing in the doorway together, out of view for Max but not the Sentinel. Jim met Blair's eyes and held them for a moment of understanding.

"Something like that," Max affirmed.

"I get it," Jim turned his attention back to the boy. "Because I need a partner myself. I'm lucky enough that I've got a pretty good one, too."

-==OOO==-

Apparently the men's room on the second floor of the central police HQ contained a portal that would take the even-stranger-than-everything-else-in-Cascade-combined-now-that-the-big-spider-was-destroyed trio back to Max's hometown, so Jim used his credentials to get everyone through the security in spite of the late hour. It was a little crowded, though. But then, the tiny restroom would have been crowded with just Norman in it.

"Thanks for everything!" Blair grinned at Virgil. "I'll take a look at those texts and see if I can find anybody willing to consider a new translation. And you'll send me the artifact as soon as you can?"

"Yes," Virgil nodded. "I will procure it from home and the Mighty One will deliver it to you after our next encounter."

"Man, that is _so_ awesome." Blair shook his feathery hand and then pumped Max's as well. "I hope we see a bunch more of you guys!"

"Sounds like you will," Max smiled at the enthusiasm.

"Sentinel," Norman said lowly. "Thank you."

"No problem," Jim said, meeting the Guardian's eyes. He wanted to point out that Max had turned around and saved them all, and Cascade, and Blair too, but he didn't. Instead he just held out a hand. "Good luck with the Guardian thing."

"Good luck with the Sentinel thing." Norman shook his hand with a very small smile.

The portal came to life and Jim immediately started to zone out, with only Blair's quick presence at his side keeping him grounded. "Dial your vision way down," he said quickly. "Probably smell too – it stinks in here. And try not to focus on it too much with your sixth sense."

By the time Jim could handle looking at the wheel of pure light and energy, a sight unlike any he'd ever imagined outside of some very strange dreams and visions, Norman and Virgil had disappeared and only Max remained, a dark shadow against the brilliance. The Cap glowed joyously and Jim again felt the tug to zone his mystical awareness on it. Blair gripped his arm and he stayed in the present.

"You know," Max said then, "a Sentinel should come with something. Not like a Guardian because, no offense, you stink at that and there's only one Guardian and his name is Normie," he grinned at Blair. "It takes both of you to make the Sentinel thing work, right? A counterpart. You know. Something that doesn't ever go away. And really knowing it's forever matters. See ya!"

And he was gone.

"Doesn't ever go away, huh?" Jim mused as the portal closed and the restroom was as it had always been, if strangely a little warmer.

"It's okay. You don't have to worry about me crimping your style for life or anything that," Sandburg protested. But Jim knew his friend well enough to know that Blair was trying to evade something that might make Jim uneasy. "You're the Sentinel. I'm just the guy who helps you work it out for now."

"Yeah, you _are_ the guy who helps me," Jim agreed. "You've helped me for four years, and I know it hasn't all been good, but I'm not sure I'd want it any other way."

"Jim?" Blair frowned.

"I'm not saying that you can't go back to your life if you want someday or that I'm not going to want to stuff your body in the truck of your stupid car and kick it off a pier from time to time," Jim said, looking carefully away. "But if you wanted to be the guy who helps me until you get tired of me, I'm okay with that."

"I'll never get tired of you, man," Blair said, suddenly gently. "Dissertation or not, I'm here, buddy. For life, probably."

"Just don't start thinking that means you get to break the house rules," Jim warned with a smile.

"Oh, I know," Blair held up one hand while he moved to the door. "Being partners might be permanent, but the house rules are _sacrosanct_."

They both laughed.

_Blair Sandburg. Partner to the Sentinel of Cascade. __My__ partner_, Jim thought. _And I'm __his__ Sentinel. For life_. _ Yeah, I'm okay with that. More than okay, really._

"Huh."

"What is it?" Sandburg asked, pausing as Jim stopped in the middle of the hall. "Something you sense?"

"No," he said, shaking himself back into motion. "Just thought I saw the jaguar for a moment."

"Really? What was it doing?"

"It looked kind of like the cat that got the cream." Jim left Blair wondering as he strode to the elevators, knowing his partner would catch up and listening for him just in case. He didn't need Sandburg to know, not yet anyway, that he'd also seen the wolf, and the two of them looked just about as smug as spirit animals could get. Like they'd both just got their way and it was _about time_.

The kid was right. It did make all the difference.


End file.
